Personal Assets (Texas Nights) (33 page)

“Not enough.” Cameron picked up the whiskey and brought it to his lips. But the foul taste of yesterday’s screw-up royale sat on his tongue and he couldn’t open his mouth. He placed the glass back on the table and made a show of watching the dancers. “Trying to get drunk.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” Jamie said, “or you’ll still be sitting in front of that glass until next week.”

“One.”

“One what?”

“One bourbon.”

“If you’re gonna get plowed,” Jamie said, “you can afford the good stuff.”

Cameron finally smiled. “Harry’s doesn’t serve the good stuff.”

“Good to know you’ve still got some sense.” Beck wiped the lip of his bottle with his shirt sleeve and eyed Cameron’s glass as if it contained the virus for a flesh-eating disease.

“Man, you opened that beer yourself,” Jamie said to Beck.

“Can’t be too careful.”

“What are you two doing here,” Cameron asked, “besides interrupting my drinking?”

Jamie’s attention was caught by something on the dance floor. “Beck, is that illegal?”

One of the waitresses was standing atop a cocktail table doing a bump and grind number to Toby Keith’s “As Good As I Once Was.” She wouldn’t have been half bad if she could’ve synced her moves to the beat.

“I’ve learned that a lot of things that should be illegal aren’t.” Beck’s lips quirked. “And I’ve gladly participated in a few things that are illegal in some states but sure as hell shouldn’t be.”

The woman on the table hopped down, much to the disappointment of her inebriated fan club, and approached Cameron with the subtlety of a hyena stalking a limping wildebeest. “Wanna dance?”

“No thanks, darlin’. Because I’m not even good once.”

She shot a speculative look at his crotch and turned to Jamie. “What about you?”

“I’m just here to keep my miserable brother company.”

She flounced off and, two tables over, found a kid with a sunburned face complemented by a pale pinstripe across his forehead. More power to the guy if he wanted to shimmy and shake with the table-dancing redhead.

“What the hell am I,” Beck grumbled, “invisible?”

“Some women aren’t turned on by that bad girl, good cop fantasy,” Jamie said.

Beck glanced at his shirt. “Shit.” He unpinned his badge and slid it into his pocket.

Bad girl. What Allie had claimed she wanted to be. Cameron was silent, but his mind was shouting out the illicit things he’d done to and with Allie. He was still convinced that was more about trust than lust. He rubbed at his temples with the heels of his hands, trying to extract the memories sticking in his brain like tiny, insidious blades. He’d never in his life felt something so...so...damn right as he had the last night they’d spent making love in his bed.

“I heard Allie paid off her loan,” Cameron said.

Jamie took a drink of his beer. “So that’s what this is about.”

“I offered her money, but she wouldn’t take it. Hell, not only wouldn’t she take it, she called me out in front of the whole damn town.”

“Why should it piss you off that she fixed things without you?”

“She met with that prick Nelson Bramhall a few days ago, and he offered her cash in exchange for access to her personal assets.”

Jamie put down his beer and leaned forward. “And you honestly think she would get into bed with that guy, either literally or figuratively?”

The thought made him want to find Bramhall and have a little chat. Between his knuckles and Bramhall’s face. “I don’t know what to think anymore. This whole damn thing has become a complicated mess. God, and to think I came back here with the dumbass idea I could open my garage, build a business and find some nice girl to settle down with.” Not an affair ending in heartbreak and a community-witnessed breakup. “That sure worked out well.”

Jamie let out a gust of air. “She didn’t take money from Bramhall.”

“How do you know?”

Jamie looked away, looked back. “Because she got the money from me.”

Cameron’s tongue went momentarily numb and his brain blanked.
What?
Finally, he regained his capacity to form words. “She let you give her money, but she wouldn’t let me?”

“I’m not
giving
her anything. I’m investing in the two businesses.”

Beck’s attention swung between the two of them, then he slid from the booth. “I’ve gotta go see a man about a dog.”

Neither Cameron nor Jamie acknowledged his crappy excuse to give them privacy. “Yeah, just what you need to go along with your Brooks Brothers suits and fancy-ass shoes,” Cameron said, “a lingerie store and a sex-therapy practice. Can’t quite see you wrapping lacy panties in tissue paper.”

“All the better to troll for women.” Jamie held up his hand when Cameron made to lunge over the table. “No, seriously. Hear me out and don’t interrupt or start bellowing while I’m talking.”

“I don’t bellow.”

“Here’s the deal. You know the money you sent me while I was in law school? Well, instead of paying tuition with it, I invested it. The market’s done pretty well and the initial investment has returned close to fifteen percent a year before taxes.”

Cameron jabbed a finger at him. “I sent you that money to pay for school, not to play around and lose it in stocks.”

“Obviously, I didn’t
play around
if I chose mutual funds with that kind of return.”

“Then how did you pay for school?”

“I kept tending bar when I moved to Waco. And what do you know, those little Baptist Baylor girls were good tippers.”

“Your job,” Cameron said between clenched teeth, “was to concentrate on making decent grades.”

“Dean’s List and Law Review not enough for you?”

He just glared at his younger brother, but the reminder of Jamie’s success in school and his career sent pride radiating though Cameron.

“I knew the way you’d react when you found out I’d stashed the money you sent me. When I heard Allie needed help, it occurred to me that offering her a silent partnership would benefit you both. She gets an infusion of cash and gets out from under her dad’s thumb. You, in a roundabout way, get to help her. And I stop worrying about talking you into taking the money back.” Jamie added casually, “You know, when we were kids, I hated you as much as I wanted to be just like you.”

That caught Cameron’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“That for once, I wanted to be the big brother. The great athlete. The responsible one. The savior.”

His blood began to percolate, slow bubbles rising to the surface. “So that’s why you came to Allie’s rescue.”

“No, it’s not about being the one with the money. It’s about doing the right thing. And the right thing was to make a decent business decision and repay you a little for everything you did for Mom and me after Dad left.”

Cameron’s anger at his brother evaporated like water in the desert, leaving him feeling dried up and empty. “I never, in all the years since, wanted you or Mom to pay me back. Every penny was without strings.”

“Not exactly.” Jamie made direct eye contact. “You wanted none of us to be vulnerable ever again. You wanted to insulate us from that risk, and you did a hell of a job. But Cameron, it’s done. You need to live your own life now. Don’t screw up your best shot by getting hung up over how Allie decided to save Personal Assets. She’s an amazing woman—smart, beautiful, ambitious, sexy as hell. And too proud to accept help that comes with strings.”

“I never put any terms on the money I offered.”

“That was probably one of the problems. She was afraid of what it might cost her some time down the road. From what I saw when we were growing up and what I’ve heard, Robert Shelby has been a puppet master Allie’s entire life. I don’t think she wants anyone else to have that kind of influence over her ever again.”

The cheap bourbon roiled in Cameron’s stomach. “How did I fuck this up so bad?”

“Because you cared enough to fuck it up.” Cameron tensed at his brother’s artless honesty, but Jamie’s logic made a hell of a lot of sense. “You wanted to make sure Allie was safe. As long as her father dangled this loan over her head, she wasn’t safe.”

“If she doesn’t need my money or my help, what do I have to offer her?” And then it hit him. He knew exactly what he had to offer her. Money and control were linked in Allie’s mind, but surely she wouldn’t refuse a gift given with no strings.

Cameron just hoped she would want both his gift and him.

* * *

Allie was in her flannel pajama bottoms working on her second package of cookie dough. Once she’d left the bank, she’d felt powerful but completely hollowed out. Her dad, however misguided his actions, had believed he was acting in her best interest by manipulating her life behind the scenes. What if Cameron thought his actions were justified too? Too bad that no matter how much she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to make him understand that caring about someone didn’t mean you had to
take care
of them all the time.

Her cell phone had one of its text message seizures on the table in front of her. The message on the screen said,
Not sure if u want these now
,
but abt to del them frm my phn.
Bitsy

And up popped half a dozen pictures of Cameron from the morning of their wreck.

Propping his hands on his hips.

Glaring down at BB’s bumper.

Staring at the crowd in disgust.

Leaning into Allie’s window.

Walking away with his pocket flapping.

Slamming BB’s door.

A glob of dough caught in Allie’s throat. Those were not pictures of a man who understood that he didn’t have to control everything. They were pictures of a man who stomped through life, and to hell with what other people wanted.

Allie punched a button on her phone.

“You’re cramming cookie dough down your gullet, aren’t you?” Roxanne asked.

Allie’s spoon clanged to the table. Roxanne was right. Enough of this wallowing. “Didn’t Dennis put in one of those photo machines at the drugstore?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I need you to print something and then bring it to me.”

Allie could almost hear Roxanne’s eyes narrow. “You want Eden to come along?”

“Of course.”

Half an hour later, they shoved through Allie’s front door without knocking.

Roxanne eyed her up and down. “Thought you’d still be in your moose PJs.” Heck, if she’d worn them too much longer, Allie’s moose pants would’ve stood up and walked out without her. Roxanne sniffed the air and headed for the trash can. A half roll was inside, spoon and all. “You
were
eating cookie dough.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” But now, she was up and dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt that said
Mess with the bull and you get the horns.

“You stole that from my closet,” Roxanne accused.

“Nope, this one’s mine.” Allie grabbed her purse and the big cardboard tube Eden had tucked under her arm. “Let’s go.”

“Allie—” Eden tried to press a palm to her forehead, “—you look flushed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Better to get him out of my system now and move on.”

Eden’s expression changed from one of worry to pity. “You think you can bob your head or twitch your nose and all your feelings for Cameron will magically disappear? Even I know it doesn’t work that way.”

“Then consider this temporary satisfaction.” She still wanted to be able to act on those feelings, but he’d proven that wasn’t an option. She might not be able to have him, but darned if she’d lose her clients because she couldn’t sustain a relationship. When they started asking why they should listen to a twenty-seven-year-old woman who couldn’t make one last a month, Allie needed to have an answer. And all she had right now is that she wasn’t willing to sit around in her moose pants and send herself into a cookie-dough coma. That would have to be enough. “Let’s go.”

Roxanne drove and immediately pointed her car in the direction of Cameron’s garage. Gratitude that she didn’t have to explain waved over Allie.

They pulled into his parking lot, and Allie instructed, “Cut the lights. We don’t want Beck showing up and carting us off to jail.”

“Are we about to do something illegal?” Eden’s faced scrunched up.

“I sure as hell hope so.” Roxanne hopped out of the car, and Allie followed her with the tube and the supplies she’d packed in her bag.

“I’m not sure I want any part of this,” Eden called from the car.

“Sugar,” Roxanne hollered back, “you need to stop flying under the damned radar. C’mon. We’ll be long gone before Beck shows.”

While Eden plodded through the lot, Allie dragged a ladder from the side of the garage to the middle bay door.

“Want to tell me what we’re doing?” Roxanne asked.

“Making a statement.” Allie climbed the steps and held out her hand for the tube. “Grab the duct tape out of my purse, will you?”

She set up her supplies on the ladder, emptied the tube and got busy. Fifteen out-of-breath, sweaty minutes later, she jumped down. A career in wallpaper hanging was not in her future, that was for darn sure. The ladder screeched across the asphalt as she moved it aside. One last touch, and she’d be finished. She scrounged in her bag, touched something soft and long. She slapped it against the door and secured it with silver tape.

Then she clicked the flashlight so the halo illuminated her masterpiece.

Eden’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh, Allie, you didn’t.”

Roxanne barked out a laugh. “Apparently, she did.”

But Allie’s attention was diverted by what she saw—or didn’t see—through the overhead glass door. Where was BB? The last time Allie was here, she’d been in the first bay. Maybe Cameron had finished her repairs. “Rox, have you seen Cameron driving BB around town?”

Her girlfriends glanced at one another and back at her. Eden finally said, “He sold the car. That’s how he got the money to offer to pay off your loan.”

Oh.
Oh
,
no.
Everything inside Allie seemed to slide down to her toes and seep into the ground. The flashlight slipped from her hand, hit the pavement and cracked so that the picture Allie had hung on the garage looked like someone had slashed it with a knife.